


Blinding Flashes

by literary_potato



Category: Fallout 4
Genre: Flashbacks, Mutual Pining, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-13
Updated: 2018-04-13
Packaged: 2019-04-22 06:45:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,189
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14303124
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/literary_potato/pseuds/literary_potato
Summary: Post Blind Betrayal. Elder Maxson spared Danse against his better judgment, but the Brotherhood's official story is that the synth known as Danse was killed. When an off-duty officer spots Danse alive and well, Maxson has little choice but to take decisive action against the Minutemen for harboring a synth.





	Blinding Flashes

**Author's Note:**

> This takes place post Blind Betrayal, where Danse survives in exile. 
> 
> One thing that I wondered about the game is why the Brotherhood soldiers don't ask questions if they've been told Danse is dead but then see him out in the Wasteland. They're not going to report that to Maxson? Really?
> 
> My Sole is covertly working for the Railroad, General of the Minutemen, and reluctantly allied with the Brotherhood in the interests of getting resources for her settlements. Pre-relationship for her and Danse (they haven't addressed their feelings at all yet). One-sided Maxson infatuation with Sole.

Daphne entered the police station, hurrying through the lobby to the main desk.  

“Haylen,” she said breathlessly. “I came as soon as I received your signal.” It dawned on her suddenly that the station was quiet, much quieter than she’d ever heard it – even in the days when only the remnants of Recon Squad Gladius were stationed there. The station’s numbers had swelled since then. There should be someone else here. There should be activity.

Daphne studied Haylen, taking in the scribe’s uncharacteristically serious face. “What’s wrong?” she asked.

Haylen remained silent. She stared at Daphne for a moment, then drew her gaze away suddenly, as though she couldn’t bear to maintain eye contact any longer.

“All yours, sir,” she said quietly towards a doorway.

Daphne frowned at her in confusion, until she heard familiar footfalls from the doorway Haylen had addressed as “sir”: distinctly boot-clad, but lighter than one would imagine, far lighter than the look that perpetually cast a shadow over its owner’s icy blue eyes.

Daphne kept her expression cool and diplomatic. She buried her rage, forcing her hands to uncurl from the tight fists that had formed at her sides. “Elder Maxson.”

“General.”

“What are you doing here?” she asked.

If Maxson was hurt by her abruptness, he gave no sign of it. “I came to give you a warning,” he said. “One of my officers was passing through Sanctuary on leave, out of uniform. She saw Danse.”

Her heart stopped for a beat at the news. She swallowed and nodded sedately. “I’ll tell him to lay low.”

Maxson was already shaking his head. “It’s too late for that,” he said wearily. “My officer positively identified it.” He somehow looked up at Daphne despite being several inches taller than her. For once the effect was soft, almost sheepish, as though looking through his eyelashes. It was a jarring sight from a man whose resting face consisted of staring daggers from beneath an angry shelf. “I managed to buy time under the guise of doing recon to understand the situation,” he went on.

Daphne’s lips made a thin line. “Are you going to tell them the truth? Tell them you let Danse live?”

“The scribes’ hypothesis is that the unit is a separate synth, but of the same model as Danse.” He sighed. “Whatever conclusion they come to, one thing is clear: they know it’s a synth. Which means that they know you are harboring a human-like synth in Sanctuary. I have no choice. Lest the Brotherhood look weak, I have to take action. An ally and trading partner harboring synths is treachery. It demands a swift and decisive response of any responsible leader.”

“Swift and decisive?” Daphne was suddenly struggling to find the breath to back up her words with the strength she usually commanded. Her next question came out in a breathy tone. “What does that mean?”

Maxson looked almost pained. “Daphne…”

Breathing hard, Daphne cut him off. “What the _hell_ does that mean, Maxson?”

“I have vertibirds armed and ready to go with a cargo full of Fat Mans.” He hesitated then. She caught the unconscious flicker of his arm as he considered whether to clasp her shoulder, to offer comfort. It lowered as he thought better of the motion. “They’re waiting for my signal. Takeoff is in eight hours.”

The deadline hit Daphne harder than she had expected it would. Her eyes teared up in automatic response as if she’d been slapped in the face.  “Eight hours? We have 78 people in this settlement,” she said, her voice rising to a shout. “Civilians, not soldiers. Children and elderly and sick—"

Maxson’s veneer of sympathy began to sour. “Had I said nothing, your warning time would have been zero hours. I only came here as a mark of respect.”

“ _Respect_?" Daphne repeated in disbelief.

Maxson was making himself appear larger now, his eyes blazing. “Yes,” he snarled, “respect to you. I didn’t have to do this at all.”

“No, you didn’t. You could have convinced your officer to drop the matter. You could have told her the truth and sworn her to secrecy. Or you could have done the right thing weeks ago and stood up for Danse when it mattered. You could have never come here. You could have stayed away from the Commonwealth, away from me, and none of this would have happened.” Daphne wasn’t sure when she had started crying, but by the end of her speech her eyes were streaming with tears of rage. She could feel the dry rake of having screamed herself hoarse. She’d have a sore throat tomorrow. She didn’t care.

She gathered herself, eyes closed as she drew herself to her full height and steadied her voice. “Excuse me,” she said. “I have a settlement to evacuate. And bad news to break to my people.” She strode from the room.

Maxson caught her by the hand. At the touch of his rough flesh, she felt like punching him. Blacken his eye, break his teeth, bloody his nose—anything to make him feel the agony she was in right now. She forced herself to keep it together. _Do it for the settlements._ She gritted her teeth and let Maxson say his piece.

“Daphne…” And here he came, bringing out the doleful eyes again, pleading through his eyelashes. “I never wanted it to be like this.” He almost sounded genuine. He probably was.

The twinge of pity that once drove her to let him down graciously was nowhere to be found now. Her gaze was ice. “Yet here we are,” she said in clipped tones. She pulled away—but Maxson only pulled her back, his large, calloused hands keeping her delicate fingers pinned without squeezing them.

“I would have given you the world.”

Daphne stopped. “Worlds end. Mine already did once. And even if it hadn’t, even if you could somehow undo what was done, replace my husband, my son… I wouldn’t want it. Not like this. Not the way you would have gotten it.”

She withdrew her hand from his grasp. This time, he didn’t fight her.

“Goodbye, Maxson.”

She left the room without looking back and headed straight for Sanctuary.

* * *

 

By the time Daphne got back, the settlement was already bustling with activity. Every brahmin available had been pressganged into service and loaded high with the things deemed most important to save. The beasts seemed to sense that there was something wrong: a fearful note quavered in their baying.

In the midst of the chaos, Preston caught her eye.

“General!”

At his shout, the throng of people parted, letting him cross to her. Everyone turned to look her way and listened expectantly for reassurance.

“General, we got your message, but there wasn’t much detail. What’s going on? Is this some kind of test?”

Daphne cleared her throat. But just as she had gotten her composure and was readying to speak, she spotted Danse at the fringes of the crowd. He’d donned a set of ramshackle power armor and appeared to be laden with as much cargo as the brahmin. The sight was so endearing, so reminiscent of all her ridiculous junk scavenging (and the constant grumbling that came with it), that all thought of what she was going to say went out of her head. For a second, the crowd was gone, and she was looking at Danse alone. Trying to find the words to explain why they had to flee.

She closed her eyes. Now was not the time to be moon-eyed. She took a deep breath and faced the crowd. “I’ve received word that the Brotherhood of Steel is planning a strike against this settlement. We have reason to believe they will be using nuclear devices. In order to ensure everyone’s safety, we need to be clear of the area in less than two hours. For now, we will fall back to Abernathy Farm. Once the crisis is past, we will reassess and determine how to best balance the load of our population across the other settlements, until we can build a suitable replacement.”

The crowd erupted in cries of terror.

Daphne stood up on a box. “We are going to get through this,” she said over the din. “We are all going to survive. If we move efficiently, we can get out of here with the bulk of our critical supplies. But that only happens if we all stay calm.” She met Preston’s eye. “Preston Garvey will coordinate the evacuation of rations and key building materials. Curie will be in charge of getting all the medicine out. Cait and Strong will assist with heavy lifting. Danse and Sturges, cobble together something with wheels the best you can. We’ve got seven who are unable to travel on their own. Try to allow for a few more in case anyone gets injured. Macready’s on kid duty; keep them from panicking, make sure none of them wander off or hide. Hancock is on crowd control. Make sure people move in an orderly fashion. Codsworth and Piper, lead a forward party to Abernathy. Let them know we’re coming and set up a base of operations so we’re not flying blind when we get there. Deacon, be on call for unexpected problems. Look for places to pick up the slack. Nick will do a final sweep to make sure nobody gets left behind.” She scanned the crowd. “You have your orders. Let’s move, people!”

* * *

 

“That’s the last of them, Daphne.”

She nodded. “Good.” She raised the PipBoy to her mouth. “Nick, do you read?”

“You got ‘em all out. I’m not getting any more heat readings.”

“Understood. Get out of there and head to Abernathy. Over.” She turned to Hancock. “Let’s go. Nick can handle himself.”

Hancock chattered endlessly. Daphne barely heard a word. She knew he was trying to help in his own way. But a looming sense of dread was beginning to build in the pit of her stomach. Hancock’s easy “ _Sunshine_ ” seemed to reach her from a million miles away. The only sound was Dogmeat’s panting and his clanking collar. Daphne’s legs moved automatically. Her whole body was numb. Her eyes told her where to go, unseeing. She was reminded of old horror films when the camera made surroundings stretch. Everything was distant, stretching, arching to get away from her.

Nate was sitting on the couch. Nate was drinking coffee.

She stopped in her tracks. “Actually, Hancock, go on ahead. I’ll make for Red Rocket. I’ll join the settlement once this is all done.”

Hancock looked surprised. “You sure? You really want to see this, on your own?”

Daphne nodded. “I need to assess the damage. Red Rocket’s rooftop should give me a visual, but keep me out of the blast zone.”

Hancock seemed skeptical but didn’t push back. “If you say so. Take Dogmeat with you, though, alright? I don’t want you getting eaten by mutants on your way back.”

She nodded again, the motion making her head spin. “See you in a bit.”

The walk with Dogmeat was easier. The sounds of nature around her came clearer. But now her heart was pounding hard. Adrenaline spiked through her with every thought. Every time she thought it might fade, she turned to look at it and fear shot into her heart again, even louder than before. She’d been on rollercoasters in the old world. This was the leadup, the car going _clack-clack-clack_ up the rise, suspense turning to second thoughts turning to aimless terror desperate to get off the ride. This was kneeling before the toilet, hideously morning-sick, knowing she was about to throw up but not quite sure when. When the truck stop came into view, she herded Dogmeat towards the mechanic’s shop, steering him inside.

“In here, boy,” she said. At first he went eagerly. Then he whimpered as she realized she wasn’t going to join him. She ruffled the scruff behind his ears. “It’s okay, Dogmeat. I’ll be right back here in a bit.”

She closed the door to keep him in. She tuned out his whining. He didn’t need to see this. If he did, he’d spend the rest of the day bolting around like there was a radstorm. Kept inside, all he’d hear was a distant boom, no different from the Wasteland’s usual procession of explosives and decay.

But she would know. Even if she didn’t look, she’d know what was there. And no matter what, she’d see it behind her eyelids for the rest of her life. Might as well limit the damage. See things as they are and commit that truth to memory. It couldn’t be worse than the terrors of her imagination. No deathclaw was as terrible as what her mind could conjure when she heard things go bump in the night.

She glanced at her Pip-Boy. Ten minutes. She made her way up to the roof, clambering over gas pumps to the overhang. From there she found a place to stand. She took her sunglasses into her hand to keep them at the ready. As much as she wanted to see it unfiltered, she knew the white flash might make her blind. She put the sunglasses on. And then came time to wait.

It soon became clear that the strike was not coming on the dot. Maxson’s order would take time to circulate. She sat down cross-legged on the rooftop, foolish hopes scratching at the edge of her awareness. _Maybe he’d relent. Maybe out of infatuation he’d changed his mind_.

Then came the hum.

Immediately, Daphne stood up, and turned her attention to the source of the noise. On the horizon she saw three vertibirds, all bound for Sanctuary. At a distance they seemed to crawl, barely changing their position. But as they grew nearer, the motion she perceived accelerated. The closer they got to Sanctuary, the more she wanted to scream. _No_. _Turn around. I surrender. I give up. Take what you want. Take everything. Just don’t destroy my home_. But it was too late for that. The Brotherhood was too far gone. Daphne buried a shudder, trying to hold back the tears, grateful she had no way to contact Maxson. If she did she would regret it all her life.

The waiting began to stretch. _Why was it taking so long? Perhaps Maxson changed his mind?_

Sanctuary lit up in a brilliant white flash. Daphne covered her eyes instinctively, even though the sunglasses made it safe. The white flash flickered like a strobe light, lighting up the edges around her hand. Gingerly, she took off her sunglasses. When she brought the other hand back down, she had to clap it to her trembling mouth.

She was back on the platform. Back on top of Vault 111. The white flash played over and over again. Nate was cradling the baby. Nate’s lips moving, saying ‘everything is going to be alright.’ Everyone was in a panic. The newscaster was speaking, his deep voice too sedate, too professional to break the way it did. _Confirmed reports_. _Nuclear detonation_. His black and white voice quavered. He kept pausing and stopping to compose himself. _Followed by… flashes. Blinding flashes. Confirmed reports. Repeat, confirmed reports_. A white flash blinded the sky, burning an outline of Nate holding Shaun into her retinas. _Sounds of explosions._ Everyone, running and screaming. Sirens wailing. Autumn colors tilting madly in the background as she tried to find the ground beneath her feet, running without thinking. The red-glowing sky, suddenly dark in mid-day, as a hot wind raced towards the Vault door. _Flashes. Blinding flashes_. She saw the flash again, then darkness as they were lowered into the vault.

The hot wind became cool Wasteland air.

Sanctuary was gone. What little remained of the twice-bombed homes was smoldering in ruin. Nine mushroom clouds rose up from the ashes. Through the smoke, she could just make out the shape of vertibirds, circling around for confirmation before reporting back to the Prydwen.

Daphne sank to her knees, shuddering with eyes open. She felt her lips swollen and thick with slobber, trying not to hyperventilate through her hand. At last the tears won out. Her eyes screwed shut as hot tears streamed down her face. She let herself fall to her side, arms and legs curled up like a baby.

 _Her_ baby.

For a long time, she cried. She let the ugly sounds pour out. The wails of anguish contorted her abdomen, making her muscles ache. All the while she struggled to breathe, her nose running in torrents as her lungs violently convulsed. It seemed to go on for ages. Every time she thought she might be getting a hold of herself, another tide of agony rolled in.

By the time she stopped, the stars were coming out. She had half a mind to stay there for the night. She wanted to blow her nose and she wanted to sleep. Everything else was fuzzy. After clearing her nose to breathe, she lay back and kept there motionless, looking at the stars. Perhaps she would stay five minutes.

When she opened her eyes, the sky had changed. Darker now, and somehow more ashen. The stars had rotated in their sphere. Without a glance at her Pip-Boy, Daphne guessed it must be very early morning.

Her eyelids were puffy, and her eyeballs seemed to press into her skull so badly it hurt. She covered them with the heels of her hands, letting pressure and gravity ease what was swollen. When that began to hurt too, she rose, and slid back down to ground level. She let herself inside the truck stop, barred the doors, and forgot to kick off her boots before she staggered into a cot.

* * *

 

She was woken by a determined knock at the door. As soon as she heard the sound she was awake. She lay there for a second, eyes wide open and totally alert, trying to process where she was. A second knock followed. She got up to answer the door. Dogmeat was already at the threshold, standing watch.

She opened the door to find a tall, broad figure in a mask and nondescript leathers standing before her. She recognized him immediately. Subconsciously, she knew he’d be coming. She let him in without a word and barred the door again.

Daphne crossed her arms—half annoyance, half pressure against her skin so she could feel herself breathing. “I hope you’re not going to blame this on yourself,” she said.

“I’m not.”

“Good. This is all Maxson’s doing,” she said bitterly. “It’s his fault. All that grievous bastard’s fault.”

Danse grimaced. Daphne could almost see old habits rising up, reason warring with his instinct to defend Elder Maxson at all costs. “He’s just—”

“Don’t say ‘doing what he thinks is right.’ Maxson doesn’t give a damn about what’s right. Or if he does, he’s wrong about what that means. Men like him, they’re all the same. They think they’re so brave. ‘Doing what must be done.’ ‘Making the tough choices.’ He makes such a big fuss about ‘free will’ and man’s hubris in giving it to machines, but at the end of the day all he can say is ‘I had no choice.’”

Danse didn’t answer. That, more than anything, made her frightened. The haze of grief started to burn away, letting her see clearly—at least here and now, where Danse was. He was trying to say something. Whatever it was, it was the kind of speech that usually had him saying “let me start from the beginning.” Only this time, it was different.

“I have to leave.”

Daphne closed her eyes. Danse went on.

"I have to go somewhere the Brotherhood won't accidentally find me. I can't keep putting your settlements in danger by hiding there."

She felt a pang but couldn’t cry. She was wrung out with nothing left to give.

The floorboards creaked as Danse shifted. “You’re not going to stop me?” he asked.

She opened her eyes. “No,” she said quietly. “I knew you would eventually. Even if I tried to make you stay, you’d just slip out in the middle of the night.”

Danse seemed unprepared for her acceptance. “It’s too much risk,” he went on evenly. “If the Brotherhood sees me again—"

“I know.” She looked up at him. “Will you ever come back?

Danse averted his gaze. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “Even once the Institute’s destroyed… As long as there’s a Brotherhood presence--”

“And if there wasn’t? If the Brotherhood left, the Institute was gone?”

She felt him step closer as much as saw it, his warmth radiating into her cold, tear-shocked skin. “Then I’d be back,” he said simply. “I would have your back. Same as always.”

A simple acknowledgment seemed inadequate. Danse apparently had the same thought, as he anticipated her arms going up around his shoulders. She squeezed him hard, and though he kept his strength in check, she could feel him clinging to her in return.

“I’ll contact you,” she said, muffled into his shoulder. They broke apart. “On the radio. I’ll contact you on your old frequency. The one where I got your distress signal.”

Danse’s brow creased. “That’s a Brotherhood frequency,” he said. “They’ll be listening in.”

“I’ll wait until they’re gone. And if anyone decides to stick around, then I hope they like bluegrass. Because that’s what will be playing when I call to bring you back.”

“I’ll be listening.”

Daphne nodded and rolled her shoulders back. She steeled herself to speak. “You should bring Dogmeat with you,” she said, putting on her General voice. “He’ll keep you safe.”

Danse began to refuse. “General…” Daphne ignored him.

“I know it’s not much, but more than he’ll keep you safe—I know that you’ll keep him safe. I know you’ll bring him back to me. And that means you’ll be okay with him.”

“I can’t bring him with me.” Danse’s speech was always careful, considered. But this was different. The weight of his words seemed to be slowing him down, as though the timbre of his voice could hardly carry whatever he was about to say without breaking. “Not where I’m going.”

Daphne froze. She tried to meet his eyes, but Danse wouldn’t look at her.

“You’re going to the Glowing Sea.”

He didn’t contradict her.

“Are you insane? What could you possibly want that’s out there?”

“I’m not sure,” he answered. His voice was a soft rumble. “Penance, I suppose. I need to make amends for what I’ve done. Virgil is still out there. And the world is still full of super mutants. I used to believe that there was only one solution, that the Brotherhood’s way was the only way. It’s like you said. ‘Doing what must be done.’ That’s what I told myself when I shot Cutler.”

She shook her head. “Danse, you know there isn’t a cure. That’s not how it works. You can’t make anything that will work for everyone.”

“Perhaps you’re right,” he said, “but it doesn’t need to work for everyone. Just someone.”

Daphne found she had no answer. For an instant, she processed, staring at her feet, worry for Danse’s safety gnawing in her gut, until she found the strength to meet his eyes.

They were beautiful. She wanted to stand there forever, bathing in his soft, attentive, brown eyes. Without thinking, she put a hand against his cheek, warm skin and stubble scraping her palm. “I’ll miss you.”

The tiniest of smiles crinkled Danse’s eyes. “Likewise.”

He cupped her cheek in return. Strange how two people's hands, so similar on the surface, could still be so different. Earlier, warm calloused hands had almost driven her to violence. These hands were a cradle, one she wanted to rock into and fall asleep with. She noticed Danse was studying her strangely. He was considering something. He had the same look he always had before a challenging, personal conversation.

The look faded as Danse decided against whatever it was he considered. His brow furrowing deeply, he drew her into a hug. She nuzzled into his shoulder. She thought she felt a whisper of air at the crown of her head, the briefest press of warm skin against her hair.

“I will get my son back,” she swore into his neck. She went on even as they drew apart. “You’ll cure someone,” she said. “I’ll make Maxson leave the Commonwealth. And I _will_ see you again. So don’t you dare die, because if our reunion sees you in a casket I will personally go to heaven and drag your synth ass back to explain yourself.”

Danse grabbed his mask. “I will endeavor not to do so.”

He made for the door, pausing briefly to scratch Dogmeat one last time.

“Take care of her, soldier,” he said, mock-sternly. Dogmeat barked. Danse jerked his head in acknowledgement of the dog’s salute, then faced Daphne to nod farewell to her.

She returned the gesture, and watched Danse’s retreating back as he donned the mask and headed out the door, not looking away until it closed shut behind him.


End file.
